If you dare
by Miri1984
Summary: A collection of prompts from da tentparty kinkmeme. Includes slashfic and heavily sexual themes that are pretty different from my normal stuff. Nearly always with Anders, but some others will no doubt turn up later on!
1. The Temptation of Cullen

"Maker, I am so _bored."_

Finn looked up irritably from his book and eyed Anders with mingled affection and annoyance. "Will you go somewhere _else _and whine? I'm busy."

Anders flicked at his book with a finger. "You're _always _busy."

"Funnily enough, you are too usually. Why are you bored now?"

"Harriet dumped me."

"You don't seem too upset about it."

Anders shrugged. "She was getting boring. I need a _new_ challenge."

Finn sighed. "What you _need _is to pursue someone you'll never get for a change. That should keep you occupied and out of my hair for a little while."

Anders smirked at him. "Someone I could never get, eh?" he said. "Not possible."

Finn closed his book and eyed his friend. Since that incident during exercises Finn had been the only mage truly willing to be friendly with him (Finn didn't count the man's women - and he suspected Anders didn't either) but he could be desperately annoying at times, especially when he had research to do. Which was always.

"I'm sure there's _someone _in this tower who doesn't find you irresistible."

The healer leaned his chair back on two legs and put his foot on the table to balance, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing Finn with evident delight. "Name one," he said.

Finn rolled his eyes, then happened to get a glimpse of the Templar on duty. An idea sprang into his head that was so outrageous it might just work. "Cullen," he said. "I _bet _you could _never _seduce Cullen."

Anders' mouth dropped open and the chair fell back to the ground with a thud. "You devious little bastard," he said. _"That _is a challenge worthy of a bard."

"You're not actually going to _try _are you? Everyone knows the man is pining after that Amell girl..."

Anders was looking into the distance, chewing on a fingernail in thought. "Solona? Huh. Well I can _work _that... "

Finn smiled to himself and turned his attention back to his book. The other mage was completely absorbed. Score one to Finn.

* * *

It was past midnight and Cullen was finally off door duty. Of all the duties, it was the most boring. At least in the library or the halls people walked past. No one went in and out of the main doors. No one interesting any way.

He hesitated at the library. Sometimes _she _would be there at this time - studying. She stayed up late most nights. He could go in and..

..no. He really shouldn't. But his feet automatically took him towards her usual corner and he was suddenly aware of noises - the sort of noises he had become used to associating with _another _mage of the circle.

His heart clenched in fear and anger and he quickened his pace. As he turned the corner his worst fears were confirmed. Against a bookshelf his Solona was pressed against the blond mage Anders - they were kissing and... other things that did pleasant... _unpleasant _things to his lower regions.

"Enough!" he roared, pulling Anders back from her with one gauntleted fist. The mage, infuriatingly, was grinning at him. Solona, her robes disheveled, her red hair mussed and her beautiful, full lips red and swollen gave him a lazy smile that shot straight to his groin. "Library privileges are revoked - for _both _of you.." she pouted - oh sweet Andraste, why did she always _pout... _"until I've spoken to Greagior. Now get back to your quarters. Right now!" They scuttled away and he leaned his forehead against the shelves, trying to regain his composure.

That night he was wracked with dreams. Dreams of her panting, wrapped around the smarmy mage, naked and glorious.

The next day his torment began. He was in the library on duty. Solona was sitting not far from him. Every now and then she'd look up and give him a smile that set his heart to racing... but _that _wasn't the problem.

The problem was Anders. He had picked a spot even closer to the Templar - within whispering distance. And he was whispering to him.

_"Do you know what her skin feels like, Cullen? Can you imagine it? Let me tell you about the sounds she makes when I..."_

"Don't you have classes to go to, mage?" Cullen asked through gritted teeth.

Anders grinned at him. "Harrowed," he said, waving his fingers.

"Don't you have classes to _teach _then?"

Anders let out a soft laugh. "Why on Thedas would they let _me _teach?"

He was going to have to talk to Irving about this.

* * *

"Don't you think you're being a bit..."

Anders was cleaning his fingernails. Maker knew why, the man was always cleaner than everyone else put together. "A bit _what?"_

"Well... _mean."_

"To Solona? She _loves _this idea. Cullen's been annoying her for _years..."_

Finn waved his hand. If Anders had a female equivalent, it was Solona Amell. The two of them had been on again off again since she reached sixteen. Neither of them had it in them to be faithful and Finn was dead certain Solona was taking as much delight in tormenting the Templar as Anders was. "Not Solona. Cullen. The poor man can barely stand straight these days. What _are _you whispering to him all the time?"

Anders' grin turned sly. "You don't want to know, Finn. You really don't."

"I just can't help but feel sorry for the guy."

"Hello! _Templar._"

"I don't mind Templars..."

Anders' mouth twisted into a bitter line. "You've never been captured by them," he said. "And anyway, Cullen's kind of cute. I'm starting to think I'm really going to _enjoy _this..."

Finn fixed his friend with a critical eye and Anders' softened. "Oh, come on, Finn. I'm not going to _force _him into anything. I'm not _that_ kind of person. And it's not as though Templars take a vow of chastity or anything."

"They're definitely _not _supposed to... do things.. with mages though," Finn pointed out.

"Doesn't stop some."

"Ser Tyrol was expelled from the order," Finn said.

"Yes, but he was _indiscreet."_

"Indiscreet?"

"If you're going to ... _do things - _as you put it -with a mage it's a good idea _not _to do it in the main hall at midday..."

Finn couldn't help but smile at that. "So you're planning on being discreet with Cullen then? Are you _capable _of that?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm friends with you, Finn."

"Not half as often as I do."

* * *

_The two bodies were naked, entwined, grunting and moaning and sweating. Cullen knew he shouldn't be watching, but that was his duty, wasn't it? To watch them? It didn't explain why his feet were stuck to the floor, why his own clothes were inexplicably missing... _

_Why suddenly there weren't two bodies there any more, why the blond man was instead directly in front of him, those mobile, sensuous lips smiling before dipping towards him and claiming his own in a kiss that left him gasping..._

Cullen woke up screaming. Or at least, trying to scream. _That _had certainly never happened before in his dream. Anders had always been present, always been involved, but he'd never... Cullen had _never..._ A certain dampness made itself known to him and he glanced down and nearly cried. What was happening to him?

He really, _really _had to talk to Irving about this.

Getting his armour on, cleaning up the mess in his bunk, trying to avoid the looks from his fellow Templars - these things made him calm the panic in his chest that was threatening to break free. It all fell to cinders on his way up to Irving's office, however.

_He _was there. Leaning against a wall, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping. He couldn't look at the man's _face_ without thinking about what his lips and tongue had been doing in his dream. Cullen bowed his head and tried to get past him without catching the man's eye, but Anders reached out an arm and stopped him.

"Cullen, Cullen, Cullen..." he said. "Why are you so _frightened _of me?"

"I... I'm not...fr..."

Anders backed him against the wall, eyes imploring, mouth downcast. _Holy Maker hear my plea, _Cullen thought, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing he could be swallowed up in a hole.

Anders tweaked Cullen's nose. The _indignity _of it made his eyes fly open. "Maker damn you!" he squeaked. _"Leave me alone!"_

The hurt look on Anders' face was almost comical. "But.."

"Why are you plaguing me? All day, every day! You and... and..."

An eyebrow quirked, and Anders stepped back again. "It's always _her _isn't it, Cullen?" he said softly.

"Wha...?"

"She's the one you think about, all the time, isn't she?"

"I... you..._Solona..."_

"Even the way you say her _name... _Maker's breath Cullen, I didn't realise you actually..." The man's mouth worked as though he was upset by something and his eyes dropped to the ground. He took a few deep breaths, then sighed. "I should have realised sooner," he said. "I'm sorry Cullen... I..."

Cullen was too confused to think. "Anders?"

"I'll leave you alone now," the blond mage smiled sadly at him and started off down the corridor, shoulders slumped. Cullen simply watched him, mouth agape, mind blank.

* * *

"Admit it, you blew it," Finn was saying. Despite himself, he was actually _interested _in how Anders was getting on now.

Anders was smug faced, eating his dinner fastidiously, small bites, savouring the flavours. "You know, one thing I'll say for the Tower, they _feed _us well."

Finn nudged him. "You're avoiding the question. You blew it."

Anders examined a piece of fish with a critical eye before fixing Finn with his gaze. "You think so?" he said.

"You haven't been anywhere _near _the man for two days."

"Is he here now?"

Finn did a quick scan of the Templars in the dining hall, spying Cullen's curly hair. He nodded. "He's here."

"Solona too?" Finn nodded again. "So.. who is he _looking _at?" Anders' smirk was so self-confident Finn was tempted to zap him with lightning. Solona was sitting a few tables across from them and there was no doubt about it, Cullen's gaze wasn't plastered all over the young woman like it usually was.

It was fixed on Anders.

"Tell me again that I blew it," Anders said, popping the morsel of fish into his mouth and chewing slowly.

* * *

Cullen was going mad. He was certain of it. When Anders left him in the corridor near Irving's office he _hadn't _gone in to see the first enchanter. He'd been too confused. Instead he'd gone back to his duties.

He didn't see Anders all that day. Solona was about, certainly. She even spoke to him a few times, but he was too distracted to really pay attention to what she said. That night his dreams were so intense he was worried he'd woken his bunkmate with the force of his climax.

Solona didn't appear in that dream _at all._

Two days later he came off door duty feeling filthy. His mind wouldn't let go of the images from his dreams. He needed to bathe, he decided - not a common thing in the Tower in winter, but the bathhouse was usually deserted this late and he was overdue for one in any case.

Stripped down to shirt and breeches with a soft woolen towel over one arm, he made his way down to the bathhouse through the quiet halls of the Tower. Steam was seeping out under the door - that meant someone was already there - he hesitated, but decided he wanted the bath too much to care if he were alone or not.

He regretted it when it became obvious _who_ was taking a bath.

He had his back to the door, but it was the voice that Cullen recognised - _singing _of all things - a simple hymn to Andraste that the Chantry sisters had them sing every week in service. He was toweling down his hair, obviously just finished in the bath as he was quite significantly _naked._

Cullen couldn't stop himself. He let his eyes run down the lines of the man's back over the rounded firmness of his arse. His legs were long and sleekly muscled as well - still wet from the hot water of the tub that had yet to be emptied. Heat rushed straight to Cullen's cock. Maker's breath, but the dreams were nothing to the actuality of the man and when he turned... _Sweet Holy Andraste... I am damned._

Anders smiled. He _smiled_ but Cullen barely registered it. The fog of desire clouding his brain was so thick he didn't even know how he managed to be against the wall of the bathhouse, hands hungrily groping while his lips were pressed to the other man's.

Anders was just as enthusiastically kissing him back. Cullen let out a groan of pleasure as he felt fingers reaching under his breeches to encase his rock hard cock and begin stroking. He rested his forehead on the wall while Anders' skillfully worked him, slow at first then faster as Cullen bucked his hips.

"So passionate, my Templar..." Anders whispered in his ear as his hand moved. "I had no idea you'd be so... enthusiastic when the time came."

_When the time came... _Cullen probably would have paid more attention to the words if he couldn't feel his balls tightening and his abdomen tingling with the first flush of climax. He shouted Anders' name as he came and the mage held his shoulders, supporting him, stopping him from sinking bonelessly to the floor of the bathhouse.

Cullen caught his breath, then looked at the mage who was still smiling. As he watched, Anders lifted a finger and delicately licked some remnants of Cullen's seed from the tips. "Mmmm," he hummed pleasurably. Cullen groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Maker, what have I _done..."_

Anders gently settled him down on the bench and started to gather his clothes. "What you wanted to do," he said. "Is that so bad a thing?"

Cullen buried his head in his hands. He felt a gentle touch on his knee and looked up to see the man watching him. Cullen had a sudden realisation that sent a wave of crushing despair through him, despite the satisfied languor weighting his limbs.

"I'm on door duty tomorrow night," he said heavily. Anders pursed his lips, then nodded in acknowledgement and understanding.

"Thank you, Cullen."

_Let that be an end of it, _Cullen thought to himself as he eased himself into the bath. With any luck the water would erase his memories as well.

* * *

Anders didn't bother to tell Finn he'd won his bet. Freedom was the only reward he required.


	2. Dusters and Crows

_Written for a tent-party prompt, but something I wanted to write any way. This is Zevran and Sigrun's first time - set just after Miranda, Alistair and Zev arrive at the Vigil in Of Wardens and Mages._

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Zevran considered himself an artist when it came to seducing women. True, few would call him subtle, but a gentle wearing away of resistance was just as well achieved by being direct about one's desires as by being circumspect. He liked his conquests to be well aware of his intentions. So he had made no secret of his attraction to Sigrun, on any of his visits. Her direct blue stare and knowing smile, the way she responded to his flirting, all made him think he was close to succeeding and he'd come to the Vigil with the King and Queen this time believing this visit would probably be the culmination of his seduction.

It was somewhat of a surprise, however, to come back to his guest quarters at the Vigil on the first night they arrived to find the Commander of the Grey, former member of the Legion of the Dead, naked on his bed, lying on her stomach, flipping through a book.

She looked up and grinned as he entered, her chin propped in one hand and a foot kicking at his pillow. She seemed taken aback by his expression, however. "What?" she said. "I'm _dead _remember? Seems a shame to waste time once we both know what we want." The harshness of her words were belied by the twinkle in her blue eyes and he laughed helplessly.

"Truly, you are an interesting woman," he said, letting his eyes wander over her nakedness, taking in curves and hard muscle and inked skin...

"Do the legion insist on tattoos _there _or was that something you decided yourself?" he asked as he pushed the door shut behind him.

She laughed and bounced -_ bounced _off the bed, then sidled closer to him, her movements sinuous and lithe. _"That _was a present from a... friend back in dust town. He was... " her eyes clouded a little. "He was a lot of fun. Almost as much fun as I think _you're _going to be." She swept her eyes up and down his body, quite lasciviously he noted. A very different persona from the one she displayed in front of her troops. "Come on," she said. "I'm naked here, a bit of turnabout would make things so much more interesting!"

Zevran considered her for a few seconds, then shrugged and pulled his shirt over his head. She whistled. "Well, you were asking _me _about tattoos..."

"The crows _did _insist on that one," Zevran said as she eagerly ran her fingers over the black swirls on his chest. She reached around and slid hands under his breeches, giving an appreciative hum as she squeezed his buttocks, then leant in and inhaled his scent deeply. Zevran was a short man - it was interesting, and intriguing, to be with a woman who was a head shorter than he, but the obvious delight she took in _smelling _him was an oddity. "Why are you inhaling me?"

"You smell good," she said, eyes closed, mouth curved in a smile. Her hands roamed back up his back, finding sensitive spots that made him catch his breath. "And you _feel _good." A small tongue darted out from between full, dark lips and lapped at his nipple. "Oh, and you _taste _good. Elves taste different to dwarves."

This was all very well and to be honest, _extremely _lovely, but Zevran was unused to not being in complete control of these kinds of situations. He caught her hands in his and brought them to his lips. She grinned up at him as he let his own tongue dart out and taste her fingertips. "Mmm," he said, tasting paper and ink and the slight tang of sweat. "You taste of _words." _He drew one of her fingers into his mouth and sucked at it, watching her eyes sparkle with pleasure and stretched her arm away from her body and made his way up with his lips until he reached the crease of her elbow, when she jerked and pulled herself away, giggling.

"Oh, that _tickles," _she said, then grabbed him by the arm and unceremoniously yanked him towards the bed. She was small, but almost certainly stronger than he - dwarven density of muscle, he guessed, because that was the only explanation for why he ended up flat on his back on the bed, pinned between her thighs.

"Tch, tch," he said, trying to regain some of his dignity. "Commander you are overly rough. You could have hurt me.."

"Oh yeah?" she said, one eyebrow raised, then dropped her head and _bit _him, hard on the shoulder. He yelped. "Trust me, pointy ears, if I wanted to hurt you I would have. Now... " she busied herself with his breeches.

He really, truly should be trying harder to take control of this situation, but he was completely out of his depth, and to be honest, intrigued. The dwarven Commander was like an overgrown puppy - completely unpredictable and sometimes slightly ferocious, curious and delighted all at once. His breeches were removed and suddenly deft fingers were stroking him - deft, _experienced _fingers. His hips bucked, but she kept him still with a firm hand on his hip before replacing fingers with mouth, and if her fingers were skilled it was nothing... _oh, nothing _compared to her tongue.

_"Creatore santo..."_ he fought to keep his voice level as she took him deeper, hands reaching around to finger him at the same time. _"Oh..." _he gasped, reaching down to tangle his fingers in her hair as she moved. He raised his head to look down caught her eyes, watching him.

_No, _he thought._ This is _not _how it was supposed to go..._

He moved suddenly, pulling her up and throwing her down onto the bed, trapping her beneath him while she wriggled and laughed. _"Cattivo,"_ he said. "Incredibly so. Where did you learn such cheekiness, eh? Not among the legion I'm certain." He dipped his head to suckle at her breasts and was happy to hear a groan as he switched from one to the other. She was struggling a little, every now and then, but his weight was enough for now to keep her in place. When he heard her breath start to come in pants he moved lower, finally nestling between her thighs and drawing his tongue in a long, languid lick over her folds. "Mmmm," he said. "I must say that dwarves _also _taste good." She didn't respond, merely let out another throaty growl and pulled his head back down. He smiled into her and continued, taking his cues from her cries until she clenched her thighs around his head and shouted, then fell back against the bed, still gasping.

Grinning, he climbed back up. "Ancestors," she said, "I needed that." Her arms were flung above her head and she was so completely relaxed that he couldn't help but grin.

"I am happy to serve, Commander," he said, lazily trailing a circle on her flat stomach with one finger. She looked down at the finger, then back up at his face.

"But we're not finished yet," she said, and sat up suddenly. Maker, the _energy _of the woman. He was still very much aroused, and she wasted no time but impaled herself on his length, throwing back her head and letting out a whoop that could probably have been heard throughout the keep.

He couldn't help it. He laughed with her, then gripped her hips as she started to move above him. The light was behind her so she was all dark ink and pale skin and indistinct features as he drove upwards. There was no finesse, she rode him like a horse, fast and hard, and he let her take the lead, enjoying the feeling of being a vehicle for her pleasure.

When she tightened around him, shouting again, he came as well, and she flopped forward onto his chest, panting and boneless.

"That was fun," she said after a moment, her black hair tickling his chin as he stroked her back.

"Fun indeed," he replied. "Although perhaps next time we can take a little more time to... explore...?"

She lifted her head and fixed him with her blue stare. "Next time?" she said.

He blinked, shocked at the lance of hurt that shot through his chest at her words. "Should you care to repeat the performance, that is," he said, a little stiffly.

Her mouth twisted in amusement, and she rolled off him and started to gather her clothing. He watched, frowning, as she dressed, then turned and faced him. "Don't get me wrong here, Zevran. It was a _lot _of fun. But I'm a busy woman, don't you know? Commander of the Grey and all."

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "True," he said.

She grinned and leant forward, tweaking his nose, then leaning over him and brushing the tip of one ear with her lips. "Gotcha," she whispered, then spun around and left him, _fuming, _on the bed.

Naked.


	3. What She Wants

_Written for Da_Tent_Party, in case it wasn't obvious. Rated M mmmm mity m. M. Original prompt at the bottom._

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The wardrobe had been specially made, years ago. He had never asked by whom. It was old enough to have been in the family since before Queen Moira's time - possibly (some might hope) a left over from the Orlesian family who had lived in the castle during the occupation.

Yet it had always been perfect for his needs.

She secured him to the bar expertly. He didn't struggle as the ropes were pulled tight, or when she reached around to tie the gag in place. He shivered with anticipation as she deftly pulled the clothes from his body, replacing them with straps of leather and links of metal. He was already hard when she secured the final loops and left him, poised on his toes, balancing to keep the crushing weight from his wrists.

She, of course, was still fully clothed as she shut the door to the robe. The hole, at eye height, was small enough not to be noticed and gave him a perfect view of the bed, provided he kept himself in one exact position - too far forward to be comfortable.

He knew from experience that to hold that position for long enough to see what he needed to see would mean agony in his arms and legs before the end.

He didn't care.

She didn't bother to undress. He could hear her moving around the room, the rustle of cloth, the clink of china as she drank her evening tea. He had no way of knowing when her lover would arrive, but the anticipation, the waiting, was enough to have him in a frenzy of desire.

He knew that if he made a sound, she would set him free and send him away.

He fought with all his will to stay silent.

Finally, when the door opened, he restrained his gasp. The deep, cultured voice of his wife's lover sent shivers down his spine.

"He has gone?" the question was urgent, heavy with repressed desire.

Around his gag, he moaned silently.

"An hour ago," her voice was full of invitation. "We are alone."

"Maker be praised."

He heard the rustle of cloth, the urgent sounds of mouths meeting, groans of passion. It was torture, not being able to see. She did this, sometimes, and he wondered if tonight would be a night for _that _kind of torment - to hear and imagine, but not to _see..._

He resisted the urge to struggle against his bonds. His muscles ached like fire, but it was nothing _nothing _to the ache in his groin, the insistent throbbing, begging for release...

Finally, _finally, _they came into sight. Her lover tumbled the woman onto the bed. She was naked, now, long limbed and pale in the lamplight. He caught a glimpse of her breast, the nipple being tweaked by a brown, calloused hand that slid down her sweat slicked skin to touch her hip before her body was covered by his - broad shouldered, muscled, as _he_ had once been at his peak. His wife was making urgent sounds, desperately writhing underneath as that hand made its way to the juncture between her thighs and began to work her, hard and fast, the way she liked. Her blond head was thrown back and her mouth was open - as were her eyes. As the man leaned further forward, burying his head into her neck, biting and licking, sucking at the skin, her eyes flicked towards the wardrobe, glinting with knowledge and desire and everything that made him ache with longing.

She reached her first climax - the flush of heat staining her skin, before sitting up and pushing her lover onto his back on the bed. She straddled his knees and bent forward, taking the hard length of him into her mouth and letting it slide down into her throat, once twice - the man in the wardrobe felt his own cock twitch, imagining what it must be like to be buried so deeply in that delicate column. His wife's lover's hips began to thrust upwards as his pleasure began to overcome him. Hands were tangled in her hair. She resisted - he could see it - but her lover was relentless, moving her head up and down, pursuing his pleasure with abandon. Finally she made a sound and jerked away, sitting upright with a disapproving frown, and her lover, shamefaced, muttered words of apology.

She tossed her head and shrugged before letting a small smile play on her lips. Her lover seemed to understand, and pulled her around so she was on her knees - unbeknownst to him that her eyes were now firmly fixed on the slit in the wardrobe - boring into her husbands'. Her lover mounted her from behind and let out a groan of satisfaction, yet his ministrations did not touch _her _face at all. She was still, and silent, as he took his pleasure with ever increasing vigour, his own shouts and groans enough to cover her lack of reaction. When he climaxed, holding her hips and throwing back his head, she allowed herself a small smile of triumph, and the man in the wardrobe shuddered, his cock jerking, _begging _to be touched.

"Why will you not let me stay with you?" her lover asked, once they were lying, tangled and sated, on the bed.

She tutted. "It would not do for the servants to discover you here," she said softly. "Not to mention Connor. I am sorry, Teagan."

He nodded, understanding, and got up to gather his clothes. Once he was gone, she slipped out of the bed to the wardrobe, unlocking his restraints, removing the gag. Eamon sagged into Isolde's embrace as his wife smiled.

"Now, husband," she said softly, grasping his cock in one hand, once the pain had lessened and he again had control of his limbs. "Shall we continue?"

_Oh Maker, yes._

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_The original prompt:_

_.god. I think I just figured out the bestest possible reason for the weird looks Isolde and Teagan give each other._  
_OK, here's the prompt: Eamon is Isolde's willing Cuck, happy to be bound and abused while Isolde and Teagan get it on._

_Any brave taker?_

_Brave taker was me. But I could not get the image of Dr Wentworth and Nurse Diesel from High Anxiety out of my head the whole time. Now I need a mod to put Isolde in a wimple and pointy brasserie every time I play Origins..._


	4. Sticky Situations

_Prompt on Da Tent Party..._

_Here's the setup. A Warden (M or F, don't care) is doing the whole Sloth demon Fade sequence in the Circle Tower. Finds Morrigan and Alistair having a lovely time together in one of those little reality pockets, but the question is this: who is real and who is a demon? Whose fantasy is this? How can it be ascertained for certain?_

_Getting it right is pretty important, or the Warden will have a happy demon following her back out the Fade and a dead companion waiting there._

* * *

Alim was supremely unimpressed with the calibre of the sloth demon. Even that mouse in his Harrowing had come closer to convincing him to allow himself to be possessed. This demon didn't even attempt to tempt him with something he'd like. Sex, or food, or even a new staff (his current staff simply _did not _match his new Archon robes) would have worked. A hot _bath _might have tempted him. Instead they tried to make him believe he was at _Weisshaupt _for the sake of the Maker. It was laughable.

And Niall was as apathetic and stupid as he'd always been in the Tower - the man had been harrowed for three years more than Alim and couldn't work out how to shapeshift? The mouse was _right there_. Truly, the calibre of Circle Mages was dropping faster every year.

Once he started finding his companions, however, he wondered if it was just _him _who'd been hard to fool. Maybe the demon had concentrated its efforts on everyone else rather than him…

The elf - Zevran - now _that _was interesting. He'd only joined them a week or two ago and Alim had been trying to think of a way to get him into bed without seeming like a _complete_ idiot ("Oh, hello, Mister Crow, I know you tried to kill me a few weeks ago, but I think you're _hot…" _didn't really work in his opinion). Alim freed him, hoping to have his help to free the others, but he disappeared. It was the same with Wynne, and Leliana, and even his damned _dog. _

He was beginning to really worry about Alistair. The boy was a mess of different desires. The demon would have a _field _day with him.

The naked bodies entwined and writhing on the massive four poster bed were difficult to identify at first, until he heard the first moan.

_Alistair?_

Well… it only made sense, he supposed. Chantry virgin that he was, he'd be wanting to get a little… but the woman…

"Faster you fool!"

_Morrigan?_

His first instinct had been to rush forward and rescue his brother warden from what was obviously a desire demon. The boy professed way to much hate for the swamp witch for it to be totally unmotivated by lust, but then he remembered some of the things _she _had said to _him _and bit his lip in sudden uncertainty.

Could this be _Morrigan's _fantasy?

"Yes! Alistair! Yes! There!"

They were totally oblivious to his presence. He took the opportunity to lean against the doorframe of the bedroom, chewing his lip. His brother warden had a _very _nice backside, he decided. All hard curves and flat muscle. Very nice indeed.

"Morrigan.. Morrigan… I'm going to…"

"Don't you _dare!"_

"I can't… Oh holy _Maker…"_

"Curse you you idiot!" the black haired witch thumped on the former Templar's back. _Not Morrigan's fantasy then, _Alim thought to himself. He started forward to help his brother warden when he felt a hand on his arm.

"Let them go again, _Kadan," _Sten said, and Alim looked up into the qunari's face to see for the first time those full lips curved in a smile.


	5. Who We Are

_Written for Elysium-Fic, who was my partner for the People of Thedas Sugar & Spice Valentine's Day Exchange._

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* * *

_

He came every year. She watched him from the shadows the first time. When shems came her family hid her - there was no knowing what they might decide to do if they found her. She knew some of the other girls and boys weren't so lucky. Alim Surana had been taken one year - he'd only been seven.

She'd been fifteen, then. Watching her cousin dragged away from his weeping parents. She thanked the goddess that her parents had recognised the signs in her - thanked her that they hadn't been afraid.

_It was the heat that made her head spin. The rough texture of his beard against her face as he kissed her, the breadth of his hands as they gripped her arms, the raw power of his body as it shoved her against the wall. Neither of them should be doing this. He was here as a trusted friend. She was expected to be loyal to her people, but they had been drawn together nonetheless._

She was sixteen the first time she got a good look at him. So tall - all the shems were tall, but this one… he was the biggest man she'd ever seen. Bigger by far than the nobles who sometimes came, the healers or the priests. Solid. Dark. His hair fascinated her - the beard that covered his face. But he was too far away for her to make out any more than that before her mother hurried her into the cellar, out of sight.

_Her fingers fumbled with his buckles and he dropped his hands to help her, shoving cloth aside and freeing himself to her touch. She suppressed the surprised gasp at the sheer size of him, imagining suddenly, urgently, what it must feel like to have that length buried inside her. His deep rumbling groan as she stroked him sent heat from her stomach to her feet and she curled upwards, seeking pressure against him everywhere. _

The fifth year he came, she was nearly eighteen. Her parents would have been arranging a marriage for her, if she wasn't… what she was. Her mother and father argued. She slipped out of the house while they were preoccupied and went to sit under the vhenadahl, leaning her head against the tree bark and closing her eyes.

"Excuse me," the voice was deep and rich, like the smell of the coffee she sometimes caught floating over the more expensive taverns. She resisted an urge to breathe it in and opened her eyes to find.. _him_… standing over her, an enquiring look on his dark face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, sharply, to cover her surprise. "It's past curfew."

He smiled easily. "Indeed it is," he said softly. Creator, but his voice rumbled all the way into her centre, so very, very deep. "But Valendrian allows me to stay sometimes. Such is the way of friendship."

"Why would Valendrian be friendly with a shem?" she said. He merely raised an eyebrow at her. "You come every year," she said defensively. "I've seen you."

"Strange, then, that I have not seen _you," _he said. "I thought I knew all the elves in this alienage." She didn't bother to reply, simply looked away. She heard a soft chuckle. "Well. I shall not disturb you further."

When he left she felt like something was missing.

_He pulled her dress open and bent his head to nip at her exposed skin, at the same time shedding the rest of his armour. She buried her fingers in his thick, black hair, kneading at his scalp, pressing his mouth to her, willing him to bite where he would have been gentle. She didn't want gentleness, not now. _

She left the alienage a week later. Her parents could no longer prevent her, and she knew enough now to seek out ways to help herself.

She was back, though, the next time he came. Self-sufficient. She'd made money, enough to spare. To help her sister fetch a good dowry - to repair the walls of their house. Her parents took it from her, fearfully, wondering, no doubt, how she had come by it. She refused to tell them. The less they knew the less they could tell.

She was under the vhenadahl again, when he came. It was morning, this time, and he smiled when he saw her, and she smiled back.

_He was naked against her - his skin dark against hers, slick with sweat. She helped him pull her dress the rest of the way off and his hands were on her again, reaching under her breastband, pulling and tugging at her nipples. She mewled as he pinched, the rough callouses on his fingers drawing sensations from her so intense she couldn't keep still. Her fingers dug into the rough covering of dark hair on his chest - so different to the elven men she was used to. He leaned down and took the lobe of her ear in his teeth, biting down so hard she was sure he'd drawn blood. It only added to her pleasure._

"I asked after you," he said softly. "Valendrian said you left."

"I came back," she said, simply.

He hunkered down to crouch in front of her. He was limber - for such a big man. He moved with surprising grace. "Why did you leave?"

She laughed, a short bark. "Why do you think?" she said, waving an arm to encompass their surroundings. He smiled and turned his head to take in the rough houses of the alienage. His teeth were very white against this dark skin.

"There are many things of value here," he said softly. "The people not the least."

"_Fuck me," she whispered. He growled and planted his hands on her buttocks, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him as he nudged at her entrance, too wide by far to enter. She shifted and squirmed on him, feeling him stretch her as he nudged further in. She felt as though each small push forward was enough to send her over the edge, yet she teetered, wanting, aching to be filled. "Creators, yes…" she cried out as he urgently pressed forward, finally filling her. He buried his face in her neck and breathed out, hard, suddenly still_.

"Walk with me," he said, standing suddenly and offering his hand to her to help her to her feet. She looked up at him, hesitantly, wondering what it was he wanted, before putting her small hand in his large one. She resisted the urge to run her fingers over the callouses she felt there, the jolt of the touch running through her like fire. His eyes caught hers, then, and she knew he felt the same.

_He began to move, slowly at first. Each thrust was like being pushed apart from the inside. She didn't think she'd ever been so thoroughly filled, yet she wanted so much more. He grunted as he shifted under her, seeking greater depth, depth that she couldn't give him. She spread her legs wider any way, opening as far as she could, trying to take him all. Her hands scrabbled on his back as she was slammed into the wall again, and again, each movement pulling whimpers and gasps from her that she couldn't have repressed if she tried. _

"Do you know why I come here, every year?" he asked her as they made their way to the bridge.

"No," she said.

"I'm a Grey Warden," he said. "I come to recruit." She laughed. He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Why is that amusing?"

"Recruit _what?"_

He stopped and looked at her. "Is it so difficult to believe that your brethren have worth?" he asked.

"_Maker," he panted, moving faster now with every thrust. She threw back her head, her eyes squeezing shut. Every muscle in her body seemed to be cramping at once, yet still he pounded into her. He reached a hand down between them to the juncture between her thighs and started to rub. She screamed - the extra sensation overcoming her defenses. There was a flash of light and the smell of burning…_

At the bridge, she sat, looking down into the river that was dotted with garbage from the city around them. Not just the alienage. The people of Denerim saw the river as a chute to take what they didn't need away. Sometimes there were bodies. Sometimes they were elven.

"You're a mage," he said, as he sat next to her. She looked at him in surprise. "An apostate."

"How do you know?"

He shrugged. "It wasn't that difficult to work out. Your family is closely related to the Suranas - and two of their children were taken. No one in the alienage will talk about you to outsiders - not even Valendrian, and he and I are very close. I've know enough apostates in my time to recognise the signs."

"You've known apostates?"

"Of course," he grinned. The expression seemed totally out of place on his face.

"So what do you want from _me?"_

_She was undone, unaware that he had pulled her to him, lifting her off the wall and carrying her to the bed, still sheathed within her, still hard. She flopped onto the bed and his bulk was above her. She blinked, then gasped as he started to move again, his cock nudging at her deepest places with every push. Impossibly, after the force of her first climax, she felt another building. He covered her, her face buried in his chest as he continued to thrust, shouting now, filling her, pushing until the tension shattered for her once again and he let out a groan and collapsed over her._

"I want you to join us," he said simply.

* * *

The news of the battle at Ostagar reached her at the border, where she was camped with the other Orlesian Wardens. All slain. Every Ferelden warden. Gone. The irony was delicious, if it weren't so painful. To have been invited back into a country by the fool's father, only to be slaughtered.

"Your orders, ser?"

She crunched the note in her hand, remembering the feel of his lips against hers, the raw, primal energy of his body as he took her. She'd taken lovers before, and since, but none had touched her the way Duncan had. And now he was dead - along with the King he'd sworn to defend, and the land was gripped by a Blight.

"Send word to the Wardens in Antiva and the Free Marches," Sidona Andras said, setting her jaw and surveying the troops under her command. "Ferelden is lost."


	6. Utter Bastards

_A little present for the beautiful Elysium Fic, who expressed a sadness that Alim and Anders from Blood Wound would never... do this... (because they sit on opposite sides of the chantry, you see). Just a short fun drabble. Completely AU. And NSFW! Oh my no!_

* * *

He was slammed back into the wall and let out an audible "umf" as the other mage's hands slid down the sides of his robes. His breath was coming in hitches and gasps already - Maker's breath but the man _smelled so good _and those clever fingers were working at buckles and Alim didn't know where to look or _what _to think…

"You said… you didn't… "

"Didn't what?" Anders murmured into his neck, letting his tongue dart out and capture a droplet of sweat from there. Alim shivered at the heat of the man's breath.

"Didn't like…" the hands had rucked up Alim's robes far enough to gain access to the join of his hip and groin and what he was going to say was lost in a groan.

Anders' voice was perfectly level and Alim's head swam. "Didn't like _what _Commander?"

"Maker's _cock _Anders…"

The low chuckle Anders let out made Alim's desire peak, even as those long fingers dipped under his sac and squeezed gently. "Well, not the maker's cock, I'm sure," Anders said. "But this one… now…" Firm fingers grasped Alim's shaft and pulled upwards. Alim squeaked - a sound totally lacking in dignity, but he couldn't help it. It had been far _far _too long and it was beginning to be very obvious he wasn't going to last under Anders' skillful ministrations. His hips bucked as Anders drew mana from the fade and coated those fingers in grease, enough to make things easy without losing that delicious friction. Alim's head lolled back and his knees weakened.

"All those women.." Alim panted, eyes clenched tight as Anders' fingers worked him. "In the tower…"

Anders caught the lobe of Alim's ear in his teeth and worried it before pulling back, his lips and the slight whisper of his stubble still brushing the inside of the ear, his voice low and husky. "There were plenty of men as well," Anders said.

"Why didn't I _know?"_

"Young, innocent apprentice," Anders said. "Irving's favourite pupil? There was a _reason _we left you alone."

"Maker's breath, you _bastard," _Alim panted. "All those years…"

"Blame Irving," Anders said, twisting his fingers _just _so, wrenching a cry from Alim that was gutteral and hoarse.

"Believe me.. ung… uh… I _am."_

He fell silent for a few minutes, eyes tightly shut, giving himself over to the sensations Anders was pulling from him. The pressure building in his groin was reaching breaking point and he felt his breath heaving in gasps and groans he couldn't have repressed if he'd tried. Anders used his free hand to cup Alim's head and bring it up to his mouth into a kiss of bruising force that stole Alim's will. He shouted into the other man's mouth as his release washed over him, his knees giving out - only kept upright by Anders' strong hand.

"Sweet Andraste," Alim gasped as his legs came back under his control.

"Happy to serve, Commander," Anders said, and with a wink and a smirk, turned and left him.

"You utter bastard," Alim murmured to the retreating back.


	7. Compensating

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?"

_Oh sodding great. Another mage. Why does he have feathers on his shoulders? Garrett's looking at him like he's a piece of meat. Well, he does have… _no. _Stupid mages. Wants us to fight Templars for him? Fucking fantastic. Just what we need. _

The warden turned from them when he'd finished talking to Garrett and bent over to tend to another patient. Carver saw Garrett raise an eyebrow and run appreciative eyes over the contours of the man's arse, clearly outlined through the cloth of his pants as the ridiculous coat rode up over his hips.

_Maker's breath, brother. Can you keep it in your pants for three seconds?_

_Why's Varric giving me that look?_

"Something bothering you, Junior?"

"No. Shut up."

"You don't usually walk that way, that's all."

"How would you know how I _walk, _dwarf?"

Varric chuckled.

O-O-O

"Why are you looking at me like that?" _Sodding mage. Pervy eyes. Bet he's watching my arse again._

"Your sister and your brother are… _were _both mages right?"

"And I'm not. What of it?"_ Oh, of course, you only like mages, don't you. You and your blond hair and mobile.. sensuous lips. Bastard._

"Nothing. It's not always passed to all siblings. But it's good to know you understand our plight."

"Shove your plight."

O-O-O

"You don't like me Carver."

"I don't like you."

"That's unfortunate. Hating someone just because they're a mage is a shameful thing."

"I don't hate you because you're a mage, I hate you because you…" you're snide and annoying and have willowy hips and a gorgeous smile and… and… "_won't shut up about it. _Oppression this, templars that. I'd had enough long before you."

"Maybe it's time you put some thought into it."

_Maybe it's time you shut the fuck up, pretty boy._

O-O-O

"I'm sorry about your sister. She sounds like a special girl."

_I bet you would have wanted to nail her, you bastard. I've heard what it's like in the Tower. Everyone kissing everybody. All hot and bothered and naked and… mage-y._

"Why? Because she was a mage?"

"Your brother says she was a good person. She never turned down a chance to help people."

"Yes. Yes I'm sure the Chantry's got a shrine with her portrait on it."

"I was trying to be nice."

"Stick with surly. It works for you."

_Maker, does it ever._

O-O-O

"Nice day to be planning a trip into the deep roads, don't you think? The Blight, dampness, the festering darkness filled with tainted rats.."

_His voice. Why is his voice so much like warm honey? I just want him to…_

"Shut up."

"You've got a real chip on your shoulder you know."

"I've got a big blade on my shoulder, mage-y."

"Right. Wonder what you're compensating for." The line is delivered perfectly, with one straight, dark _adorable _irritating eyebrow raised over one large, whiny _liquid and warm _brown eye.

_Fuck you, Anders _the words are on his lips, but they don't come out because really all he wants right now is to _fuck him._

Maker's cock and balls, he's hard again.


End file.
